Mizzies on a Plane!
by LesMisLoony
Summary: A young LM fan finds that her plane has been overrun by Mizzies in a time warp.  Insanity ensues, with a mild chance of hilarity.  Hurray, another stupid ending on a weird parody fic!  Betcha didn't see THAT coming.
1. An Unusual Seatmate

A/N- I was looking through my old junk and realized that I used to be able to write some relatively amusing stuff. Admittedly, it's gotten a little harder since they outlawed script form, but I thought I'd give it a stab once again. This story was inspired by a review from xxx-DaydreamBeliever-xxx for my ancient rip-off of Mystical Chinchilla entitled "Mizzies at the Park." I hope it'll be amusing later... I think Montparnasse broke my funny bone somehow. But with a title like this, how can you go wrong?

Disclaimer- I read that a hundred years after an author's death the copyright on his work expires, so I refuse to say that I don't own Les Mis. Try and sue me! Hah!

* * *

Sarah had never been on a plane before. Her mother had said she was lucky to be going on such a trip by herself, and even more lucky that the seats on either side of her were empty. During takeoff, she had moved to the window seat and pressed her nose against the glass, watching the world dwindle down to a model; she had transferred to the aisle seat when the flight attendants came by with lunch.

But now Sarah was getting bored. She was eighteen years old, though she looked much younger, and she had been planning this trip to Paris with her family since her junior year of high school. Upon graduation, her parents had promised, they would go to see the birthplace of her one true obsession in life—_Les Misérables._ Of course, they hadn't foreseen her father's sudden promotion and a slew of business meetings in Raleigh that followed. Sarah's parents had insisted she go ahead, promising they would call her cell phone at least twice a day and make sure everything was going well. She was to meet her mother's college roommate, Céline, upon getting off the plane, so her family was sure she would be in good hands.

The night before, Sarah had stared at the stars in the most Javert-esque way she could manage and wished with all of her being that somehow Paris would make _Les Misérables_ would come alive for her in a way she had never been able to grasp in the United States. The characters of Les Mis had always been more real to her than her classmates, and she was sure that seeing the streets they had walked would help her understand them even more.

As such, Sarah was caught off guard when her wish came true in the literal sense.

The plane was somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean, and Sarah, weary of the vast blue expanse of sky out the window, had moved back to the center seat and drifted into sleep. She was awakened by an elbow suddenly lodging itself in her ribcage and a startled shout. Sarah's eyes flew open, and she found that somehow costumed men had appeared in the seats around her. She scowled at the intrusion. "Can I help you?"

The man who had somehow worked his way to the window seat turned to face her, frustration contorting his otherwise handsome features. "Well, where are we?" he demanded irritably.

"Isn'd id obvious?" said a new voice; another oddly-dressed young man was peering over the back of the seat in front of Sarah. "We failed ad died. Dis vessel is takig us to de afderlife."

Keeping an eye on the mysterious men, Sarah slowly reached up and pressed the button to summon a flight attendant.

The man in the aisle seat leaned over Sarah to speak to the blond at the window, and she recoiled from the stench of alcohol that his body and clothes seemed to exude. "Sheems to me," he drawled, "that we're flying. Nothin' to worry 'bout, though. Happensh a lot when you've had a bit too much—" and he suddenly collapsed into a faint, his unshaven head falling into Sarah's lap.

The girl screamed and pushed the unconscious drunkard away; his limp body hit the floor of the plane with a massive WHUMP. The blond at the window rolled his eyes. "Winecask," he muttered.

"Who are you people?" Sarah squeaked as more strangely dressed men began to look over the backs of their seats for the source of the commotion. She couldn't remember any of them being on the plane earlier.

The blond straightened up, puffing out his broad chest and lifting his chin so that she might see his Grecian profile. "We are Les Amis de l'ABC, friends of the lowly, fighters for the good of the people," he declared grandly.

"And it seems we're on our way to the Ineffable Beyond," added a poorly-dressed fellow kneeling in his seat one row ahead.

"Les Amis…" Sarah repeated slowly.

"De l'ABC," another of the men finished, winking suggestively at her.

"And there's the blond leader… the drunk… a hypochondriac… shabby-looking poet…"

"And the ladies' man," interrupted the man from across the aisle, winking again.

"Don't forget the lovable fan-maker!"

"The philosopher!"

"Bad luck charm."

"The… baldy."

Sarah's mouth was hanging open in disbelief. There could only be one explanation for all of this…

There was a commotion from the first class, and a moment later four rough-looking men burst through the curtain, glancing about in a wild confusion.

"This ain't the armory!" cried the small, thin man at the front of the group.

Sarah felt like crying, screaming, and laughing all at once. She couldn't believe it—her father had somehow hired more than a dozen men to dress up as characters from a book he'd never even bothered to read just to surprise her on her big trip to Paris!


	2. The Runaway Cart

A/N- So... apparently humourfic is wildly more popular than the stuff that actually takes work. Not that I'm... bitter... much. But eleven reviews, geez! I see I've been missing the boat all along... Um, in reference to this story, I know it's not totally funny yet, but just allow me this one chapter to break free of the angst I've been writing for the last few years. I promise goofiness will about soon. I have ideas... and plans...

Princess Pajamas: That was actually part of my inspiration in writing this. It won't be worded in that exact way, because I have serious morality... issues... but... well, you'll see, I guess.

runningincircles: I want to meet them too. Especially... well, we all know who I'd especially like to meet, I'm pretty sure.

Jehannish: Humourfic actually used to be all I did. ...That's a poorly-constructed sentence, apologies. But it's been a while since I last gave it a whirl, so it might take me a few chapters to build up some steam and get back on my game. But I'm glad you found the first chapter funny!

xxx-DaydreamBeliever-xxx: Thank YOU so much for your review on Mizzies at the Park! This obviously couldn't be construed as a sequel to said "work" by any means, as I'm not involved and script parodies are illegal, but I hope to eventually achieve something amusing out of it.

Madame-Enjolras: I actually have a pretty low opinion of Mizzies at the Park myself (but I have a low opinion of a lot of my crap on the site) so I hope this one is better. I mean, it isn't yet... because I personally don't think it's funny at all yet... But I'm trying.

chorus girl 24601- Many thanks!

Steven Kodaly: Eh, I'm going to go wrong with it after all. Hope you'll stay tuned for it to get better, though! I hope to have answered your question in this chapter.

GizmoBunny: No wonder you have a fear of planes--any Weird Al fan who's heard Albuquerque certainly should! Actually, I was listening to that song on my first plane ride, and it didn't help my nerves at all. I definitely kept my tray table up and my seatback in the full upright position through the whole flight, just in case. However, I have to correct your phrase concerning the sexiest men in literature--Mr. Rochester is NOT on the plane. Sadly.

Kates Master's Sister: Your wish, my command.

Maddiecake: Right now is pretty convenient, actually. Just because your review made me laugh.

Anonymous: Okay! And glad you appreciate weirdness.

* * *

Still watching the strange actors around her in puzzlement, Sarah realized that, though she had summoned a flight attendant some time ago, none had come to her aid. There was nothing to do but to go search for one, so she stepped carefully over the unconscious drunkard, Grantaire, and made her way down the aisle.

As she passed the various actors, Sarah began to notice how much they physically looked like she had always imagined them. Enjolras even had a slight resemblance to a boy at school, just as she had always supposed. If indeed they had been hired by her father, how had he found such perfect matches for the characters? He had never bothered to read the Brick, finding that one ton of pages of story were a little too time-consuming. And it seemed unlikely that he had managed to match these actors so well to her mental images just using the little sketches in the margins of all of her notebooks. It really couldn't be anything more than coincidence.

She mentally checked them off as she passed them on her way up the aisle: Enjolras, Grantaire, Joly, Jehan, and Courfeyrac—who really must stop looking at her like that—Feuilly, Bahorel, Bousset, and Combeferre. Then, there were the four men who had just entered; she immediately recognized the Patron-Minette, and was not displeased to note that Montparnasse was just as handsome as she'd hoped.

When Sarah pushed aside the curtain that separated herself and the actors from the first class, she beheld a sight the likes of which she hadn't seen since her last visit to the new production at the Broadhurst Theater.

The flight attendants' cart was stuck, almost sideways in the aisle, and an old man was pinned beneath it.

A mutton-chopped fellow in a greatcoat who could only be Inspector Javert stood off to the side, arms folded across his chest, and watched the trapped man with a look of undiluted suspicion.

"Is there anyone here who will rescue the man?" Sarah cried before she could restrain herself. "Who will help me to shoulder the weight of the cart?" The moment the lyrics left her lips, she was ashamed at having made light of the situation, for the man beneath the cart was clearly in pain.

Inspector Javert's piercing gaze left the old man and rested unflinchingly on Sarah, the suspicion still obvious. "It's not that we don't want to," Javert said coolly, "it's a question of strength. I have only known one man capable of doing what you ask. He was a convict."

"And he's currently occupied in trying to breathe!" gasped the old man.

Sarah blinked several times in confusion. "This cart isn't heavy!" she said at last, "it has wheels! Just roll it off the old guy."

"I have only known one man capable of doing the work of a jack," Javert said again.

"Oh, shut up!" Sarah cried, giving the cart a mighty shove. It rolled away toward the front of the plane, freeing the old man, who immediately began to prod at his bruised ribs. Sarah turned to Javert. "I'm five foot four, and I pushed it away no problem. I can't believe you didn't even try! He could have really been hurt!"

Javert said nothing, but watched her with a near indiscernible expression, then turned away. Sarah huffed again and crouched by the old man. "Are you all right, Fauchelevant?" she asked, ceding to use the name of the character the actor must be portraying.

The injured man glanced sharply up at her. "Who gave you that name?" he demanded. "It's Fauvent now. Or… uh… Ultime… Fabre. I forget."

"Valjean?" Sarah gasped. Clearly her father hadn't read the Book as seriously as she'd hoped.

Inspector Javert, who had been nearing the partition to business class (which would certainly have been disastrous for the Patron-Minette, who were indeed loafing there in the first few rows of seats) froze at this sound.

Fauchelevant shot Sarah a nasty glance before scrambling beneath a seat, only one ankle protruding into the aisle.

"What did you say?" demanded the cold voice of the Inspector.

"I said… 'he's gone'…" Sarah replied feebly, moving quickly to block Javert's view of the old man's exposed foot. "I, uh, think the guy died. From the… cart."

But Javert was not listening. He approached Sarah in a few long strides, and seized hold of the old man's foot, dragging him back out into the aisle.

"Valjean!" he cried, his voice terrible.

Sarah rolled her eyes. The actors were really taking this too far.

The old man, Valjean, was half-dangling from the Inspector's fierce grip. He clutched at Sarah's sleeve and said softly, "Please take care of Cosette while I am away. Tell her I have gone to… Calais. Don't let her know what I am." Sarah was startled to see real tears in his eyes. These guys were professionals!

Just as she was about to go along with his desperate plea, there was a gasp behind them and a delicate voice cried out, "Papa!"

At that moment, with a massive whizzing sound that she had hitherto only heard in disaster movies, the nose of the plane tipped forward, and all of them plummeted downward toward the ocean.


	3. Valjean Recaptured

A/N- No, Cosette isn't flying the plane… but now it's time for me to fill in my first plothole with BS, guys, so I hope you enjoy.

GizmoBunny- Now I have a mental image of Enjolras standing in the Musain, waving his red tablecloth… but all of Les Amis are just staring at his crotch and the fanny-pack-esque pocket above it… Thanks for that.

pottersweetie- Who knows how long it'll be between updates… that's up to my Muse, I guess. Ideally, about one a week…

Maddicake- Javert's character does seem to distort into comedy better than all the rest, which is convenient, since he's so popular hereabouts.

Princess Pajamas- (mental image of Cosette trying to find her butt with a flashlight, two hands, and Toussaint) . . . oh dear.

runningincircles- Have no fear, drowning isn't on the Mizzies' agenda… yet. Even Javert's.

Kates Master's Sister- (obeys)

mabeuf- I do thank you kindly! I'm still convinced that I'll never be able to top Into the Streets, but I'm warming up to the genre. As soon as I rescue them I'll attempt to have hilarity ensue…

Steven Kodaly- With MysticalChinchilla as my muse, I shall take it upon myself to have gags and inanity run rampant… soon.

Madame Enjolras- I only hate… about… half of Charmer. The rest of it I still think is pretty good. But I also originally wrote Mizzies at the Park about five and a half years ago, so I guess I could technically cut myself a little slack…

Chorus girl 24601- There's a pretty good chance she'll pop up sooner or later. I'm making this up as I go along, just so you know, so reviews are pretty likely to influence which direction I take…

* * *

Everyone had lost their balance; Sarah plummeted down the aisle as though it had been transformed into a deadly slide, only stopping as her entire body crashed into the door to the cockpit, which sprang open.

There were two chairs at the front of the plane, and both were empty.

Remembering her brother's video game "Flight Simulator"—which she always tended to lose—Sarah seized one of the steering-wheel type things and jerked it upwards. She fancied she could feel the angle of the floor decreasing slightly, but through the windows at the front of the cockpit she was now able to see the individual waves in the ocean below.

And then she saw a giant red button on the dashboard with this wonderful word: Autopilot.

Sarah slapped the button with both hands, then waited for order to restore.

To her right, she began to hear a soft hissing noise.

Turning slowly, Sarah saw a giant doll balloon with a foolish grin on its face inflating to the size of a man. Its plastic hands reached forward and seized the controls. The plane was immediately righted.

Sarah furrowed her brow, then stumbled back out of the cockpit, closing the door behind her.

She was in a plane, flown by an inflatable man, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. All of the passengers had disappeared, and in their place were either the best actors she'd ever seen or characters from an old French novel. Sarah was the only normal passenger aboard.

As she returned to first class, Sarah passed Javert, who had somehow kept hold of Jean Valjean's ankle throughout their near death experience, and was now dragging him up the aisle in search of a makeshift holding cell that would do until they reached a real police station. Valjean was shouting euphemisms at a pretty young girl who must be Cosette, explaining that he had forgotten to have tea with the nice man, and they'd be right back. He even promised to bring her a crumpet. As for Cosette, she seemed pleased with this explanation, and, letting her surrogate father be dragged away, timidly approached Sarah.

"Excuse me," she said softly, "but have you seen a young man with dark hair and—"

"Marius?" Sarah interrupted. "No. I've seen Montparnasse, though. He's pretty hot. You two would be cute together."

And she seized Cosette's arm and dragged her back to business class, shoving her bodily at the flower of the underworld, before returning to the front of the plane with the intention of rescuing Valjean.

As she reentered first class, she caught a glimpse of Javert stuffing Valjean into the bathroom and took a few purposeful steps in that direction. Suddenly, the luggage rack near her head flew open and a something fell out onto her back, knocking her to the ground. She turned to shove the suitcase back into its compartment, absolutely vexed at this point, but saw that the weight on her back was not baggage, but a dirty little boy.

"Gavroche, I presume?"

The boy grinned, scrambled to his feet and, with incredible agility, climbed back up into the luggage rack, pulling the door shut behind him.

When Sarah looked up again, Javert was gone and the flight attendants' cart had been pushed against the door to the bathroom.

"Oh!" she shouted, hoping the lawman could hear her, "_Now_ you can move the cart!"

And, turning on her heel, she stamped back to the business class, where a very strange sight met her eyes.


	4. Epic in the Aisle

A/N- Hahaha I just got tickets to see LMSE as directed by none other than Terrene Mann! And I will get Terry's autograph on my now five-year-old playbill this time or be arrested trying. This I swear by the stars. I'm curious, though… does the School Edition count as actually seeing the show? Because if it does, I'll have seen Les Mis FIVE. TIMES. Wow.

Steven Kodaly: I must say, I appreciate your reviews. You seem so…l informed. As to your suggested very-warped warp, that sounds remarkably intense… but worth a ponder.

Chorus girl 24601: Hm, I think having a little nineteenth century urchin boy rummaging through luggage might end up being slightly less than appealing, but to each his own. I suppose you could just stuff him into your suitcase and take him home…

Maddiecake: I don't know how much, ah, "old" humourfic you've managed to peruse, but there was a time when every. single. humourfic had a scene wherein Javert shouted, "24601!" and Cosette said, "Daddy, what does that mean?" And Valjean replied, "Why, it means daddy is a banana/grapefruit/some other obscure food product, dear." And all of the readers would lol, but it got kind of redundant after a while… methinks the trend has passed, though.

GizmoBunny: Haha, I'm in poli 100 right now. Seriously. My Blondeau is yakking about how horrible it is that there's no differentiation between entertainment and news. But we students shall rebel, and there shall be a fanfiction uprising amongst the college campuses! Or high schools, or whatever. It'll be… great. In fact, a brief glance around the lecture hall reveals three people on facebook and one playing Solitaire, so I think the uprising shall be far more widespread than I previously thought.

BregoandShadowfax: You're absolutely right, Sarah isn't a realistic fan! If any of us were in her place… of course, there's probably a serious self-preservation issue taking up most of her thoughts… In the future, though, I think she'll settle into a fangirl-like state…

miranda-keene: Does that make you a Cosette/Montparnasse fan? I know I am… heh. But if you liked _that_, read on! (evil laughter) Oh, and I definitely want to use the Shirley one. Yes indeed.

running in circles: Aw, your review is funnier than my fic… I guess that means I should essay to include more dialogue. Very well, but this chapter's already written. Um… anyway… that'll apply in the future, then.

Madame Enjolras: I'm making an effort to update at least once a week. So, come Wednesday, there should be a new chapter from me. Ideally, that is.

Maxithetaxi: I'm obsessed with Montparnasse, for the record. I'm SURE you NEVER noticed… But I honestly don't think I've ever written a full-length fic that didn't make mention of him—no wait, I lied… one of my first fics was a crossover with Back to the Future in which Montparnasse made no appearance, but that was back when Javert was my favourite for whatever reason. Oh 'Parnasse…

* * *

Sarah stopped dead at the partition and stared, letting her mouth slowly fall open. 

It wasn't that she hadn't always hoped something like this would be possible. It was just that, well, it absolutely, unquestionably, was NOT possible. Victor Hugo would have died if he had seen this, or died again, as the case may be.

If the fictitious characters—for she was now certain that her companions were authentic (and perhaps she'd wake up tomorrow morning in her own bed, a packed suitcase waiting by the door and a plane ticket to Paris perched neatly atop)—if the fictitious characters had appeared here in the 21st century, could Victor Hugo appear as well? Or _other_ fictitious characters, such as Edward Rochester! But she was already digressing before she had physically recovered from the nasty shock she'd received upon marching into the business class and seeing the result of her thoughtless actions only moments ago.

To begin describing the unbelievable scene with the bit that is least remarkable (though still startling), another character was being dragged through the aisle by a limb, though this time the victim was Enjolras, the captor was none other than Claquesous, and the limb was an arm. Sarah groaned, remembering the Le Cabuc episode. Fortunately, the marbled Apollo's posse seemed to be in the process of planning a daring rescue attempt.

Her eyes then darted back to the first thing she had seen, the thing that had made her freeze and gawp like, well, like a girl trapped in a metal tube hundreds of feet in the air with no one but 19th century fictitious characters and a blow-up doll. In the second row Babet and Gueulemer were in deep discussion with, for some reason, Grantaire—and in the seat just ahead was Montparnasse, the charming flower of the sepulcher. The devil's playmate was leaning forward, whispering, with a hint of a smile, into the ear of chaste little Cosette Fauchelevant, who was blushing fiercely and, incomprehensibly, smiling. Astonished, Sarah put out a hand and gripped the overhead baggage compartment for support, quickly jerking it back when she felt grubby little fingers picking at the clasp of her watch.

"That's a Fossil!" she cried, slapping at Gavroche, who giggling and retreated behind a suitcase. "Brat," she muttered.

Meanwhile, Les Amis launched the counterattack, which, without Enjolras's leadership, could hardly be called "clever." Joly was at the lead, though he seemed rather intimidated by the obviously germ-covered Claquesous. The little hypochondriac steeled himself, puffed out his thin chest, and marched resolutely down the aisle toward certain infestation. Jehan and Feuilly, meanwhile, were scrambling over the backs of seats on either side of the aisle, managing at length to head Claquesous off and block his path. Both of them were visibly trembling.

Claquesous reared back when the students leapt into the aisle ahead, snorting like a startled horse, then took one step backward, unfortunately treading on Enjolras's torso. The revolutionary yelped and, as Claquesous was looking down and stepping off of his victim, Joly lurched at the murderer and cracked him smartly on the forehead with the head of his cane. Courfeyrac then rushed forward and kicked the ventriloquist in a place that had best not be discussed. Combeferre, meanwhile, ducked into the fray and emerged a moment later, dragging a moaning Enjolras by both legs.

It seemed that the students had triumphed, and Sarah could not help but clap her hands at their victory. She noticed that L'aigle and Bahorel had done nothing to aide in the rescue of their leader, but reasoned that the bad-luck-charm probably shouldn't have been included anyway. And Bahorel… well, maybe he was just lazy. Of all of the students, she knew the least about Bahorel. He was bald, she knew, but that was as much as she could remember. She had a copy of the Brick in her carryon… if Gavroche hadn't already pilfered it, she'd look Bahorel up later.

Les Amis retreated to their side of the plane with Enjolras, who was still massaging his ribcage with a look on his face that suggested he may be nursing a few cracked bones. He spared a brief moment to congratulate his comrades on their plan and its success.

Sarah turned her attention back to Montparnasse, who was now holding one of Cosette's hands in his, his lips grazing the skin as he murmured something and gazed into her eyes. The poor girl seemed terribly flustered, and flattered, and she glanced around guiltily. Her blue eyes rested on Sarah, and she quickly turned away, cheeks reddening madly. No doubt she was thinking of Marius's probable reaction, if he could somehow see his love now.

At that moment Sarah happened to glance up, and she realized that Cosette might not have leave to said reaction entirely to her imagination.


	5. Eponine, Prison, and Bossuaigle

A/N- Okay, I've reread almost all my old humour stuff and I think I'll be able to get back to that point eventually… hopefully… I'm really trying. You can tell, can't you? No? Okay.

GizmoBunny- Ahh, your review cracked me up! I'm in linguistics as well, and for some reason I've managed to learn l337. Well, I can't exactly write it, but I can painstakingly interpret it. The idea for this fic was originally to be a parody of SOAP, but I kind of tangented away from that… There you go, linguist, I just used a noun as a verb and my Spellchecker disagrees. Ugh, linguistics.

Steven Kodaly- Yes, but pop culture is completely unnecessary, in my opinion. I'd sacrifice that knowledge for increased literacy or a few more languages any time. As to Jean's incarceration, Cosette probably still thinks he's having tea with the nice sideburned man… or something.

miranda-keene- Gasp! I mean… I totally knew that. Totally. It was all part of my master plan… ahem.

Chorus girl 24601- Well, you know the reason no one (including Boublil and Schönberg) remembers stupid Bahorel is because he has one tiny paragraph that basically says that he is forgettable. I address it in this chapter.

BregoandShadowfax- Ooh, who did you play? I'm excited to see the show again. I've never seen LMSE, so it'll be interesting to see what makes my love PC. And to see what kind of a director ol' Terry Mann turns out to be. I'm unintentionally rhyming! Yay. As for Rochester, he is LOVE. As in, I adore him almost as much as I adore my 'Parnasse.

Madame Enjolras- Aw, I wrote a ficlet once, based on 'A Christmas Carol,' wherein Mizzies attacked me and, at one point, showed me that VH was rolling in his grave. It was really bad, but… oh, that was many years ago… I doubt if anyone would know… Haha, points if you get that reference.

mabeuf- No indeed, my snarky friend. She was standing near the seated couple, thus looking away from them and toward the back of the plane would have been an "up" thing… like looking up from the dinner table doesn't necessarily mean looking at the ceiling… but I may not have specified Sarah's location in relation to Parnasse and Cosette, so apologies if that's the case.

Cowsgomoo23- Muaha. Yes indeedy-doo, to at least one of those characters. Terry and I have a "history"… heh, I'm kidding. Sort of. I mean, I saw him in LM on Bway when I was twelve, and he told me he was a janitor when I tried to get his autograph at the stagedoor. A month later I went to an outdoor concert of his and, while waiting at the stagedoor, his "people" came out and said, "Oh, Terry's coming out that OTHER door down THERE," and, naïve as I was, I was all, "Gee, thanks, mister!" and, as I was walking away, I heard a door slam and turned around just in time to see a familiar bleach-blond head ducking into a waiting car. But, believe it or not, I have that old playbill with me RIGHT NOW, and I'm bringing it to the show on Friday. And Terry will sign it or DIE. (Now that's tenacity!)

* * *

A handsome young man stood at the back of the plane, gaping at the back of Cosette's head with astonished, traumatized eyes. As Sarah watched, his lower lip began to tremble and he turned on his heel, pulling a ragged, ugly goblin of a girl from the back row and dragging her bodily down the aisle. Cosette's eyes left Montparnasse and fastened to her beloved as he trotted past, a dazed Éponine hanging from his arm with about as much life as the blow-up doll in the cockpit. Cosette pulled her hand away from Montparnasse, staring after Marius, mouth agape. 

As Marius exited business class, Inspector Javert entered. "Madame," he shouted, having clearly decided that Sarah was somehow piloting the plane, "I must find the nearest prison immediately!"

"A prison!" gasped Cosette. "What is it?"

Javert looked at her with steely eyes. "A building full of convicts. But that's not important right now. I've finally apprehended 24601!"

While Javert was speaking, Sarah noticed that Montparnasse was sinking lower and lower in his seat, pulling his hat down over his eyes as far as he could. She decided not to comment, but the inspector followed her gaze. "The devil's playmate!" he cried, seizing Montparnasse by the scruff of his neck and pulling him toward the front of the plane.

Sarah watched as Javert stuffed the young murderer into the tiny bathroom stall where he had left Valjean, pulling the cart back over the door for added security.

Marius was kneeling in a nearby a seat, holding onto Éponine's arm like a small girl with a doll, and waiting for Cosette to glance his way. Éponine, meanwhile, hardly dared breathe lest she wake herself from this fantasy.

A rustle from the overhead luggage rack caught Sarah's attention, and she suddenly remembered her intention of checking Bahorel's description in the Book. She opened the compartment carefully, lest Gavroche should fall on her again, and located her carryon, quickly digging out her copy of the Brick.

She found the passage within seconds; (Sarah was a good fan, and she knew her way around her Book): "Bahorel, a capricious man, was very partial to several cafes; the others had habits, he had none. He loafed. To err is human, to loaf is Parisian." Sarah grinned and began to scan the passage, checking for any defining features…

"In this conclave of young heads there was one bald member."

Sarah started. Hugo was still referring to Bahorel, right? Her eyes flicked further down the paragraph, and she saw the word, "L'aigle."

She hurriedly shoved the Book back into her carryon, then leaned slowly over in her seat, glancing down the aisle.

Bahorel and Bossuet were still sitting side-by-side, watching the recently-rescued Enjolras with rapt attention.

But now that she thought about it, the bald one did have a black eye, while the other, nondescript one was unharmed. Not to mention the rabbit's foot dangling from the baldy's watch fob. Sarah's eyes widened.

How long had she had Bahorel and Bossuet confused? And why had Hugo given Bossuet so damn many names? She scowled at the students and made a decision.

Forget Les Amis. She was going to hang out with the Patron-Minette.


	6. A Different Girl

A/N- Well, I've been sick for a few days now. I almost killed myself canvassing for Barack Obama on Saturday, so you all better vote for him. Assuming you're 18, that is. And American. But, while flopped miserably in bed earlier, it occurred to me that it's Tuesday, and I swore I'd update on Wednesdays… and I read some hilarious fic for inspiration (see if you can guess which). While I was reading said unintentionally hysterical fic, my Ruckus started playing Michael Ball's cover of some Blues Brothers songs, which cracked me up so hard that I decided I can run with that. Oh Mikey, for you I would shake a tail feather any day. Rawr, I now seem to have poison ivy on my face and lips so chapped they're bleeding. What on Earth is wrong with me? I think I'm dying of various diseases...

Chorus girl 24601- Word. Except I do know the P-M pretty well, considering… well, I mean, look at the crap I've written… but I've always had issues with those fringy Amis. I eventually worked out that Feuilly is the orphan fanmaker and Combeferre is the philosopher… And then there's Bossuet and Bahorel, which I managed to characterize, let's see, last week. Urgh, too many little characters, Hugo!

BregoandShadowfax- An all female P-M? Ahahaha… The LMSE I saw had five guys in the P-M, which really annoyed me until I decided that Gueulemer had finally made it into the stage production! It was a little harder for me to figure out why there were twelve Amis, but… whatever. Weirdest moment of the whole show: while le Baron de Thénard is telling Marius about Valjean's sewer antics, Madame and Cosette were deep in discussion in the background. WTF were they talking about? "Oh, remember that time when I was four and you beat me senseless and then forced me barefoot out into the snow to clean the horse crap off the bottom of your entire family's shoes? You don't? Well, I do… Gooood times."

miranda-keene- I think I may have tentatively decided where I'm going with this. But yeah, Javert gets to capture all the guys he didn't get to before and Sarah (not me… Sarah… I TOTALLY knew what was going on) realizes the difference between Bahorel and Bossuet… good fun.

Madame-Enjolras- I'm half-dead, but I did my Wednesday update just for you. No, I'm just kidding, I'm really not that deathly ill. Just kind of… woozy. And I'm sure my Muse is hovering outside until my level of contagion goes down. Holeh crap! My spell-check says "contagion" is a real word! "Holeh" isn't, though. Oh well.

Steven Kodaly- Hm, perhaps, perhaps. But I do think, canonically, she wouldn't make the connection. Still, this isn't exactly canon, is it? So… perhaps.

GizmoBunny- Holy crap, peas in a pod! "And finally Montparnasse, a sorry creature…" is a good one I can find quickly. I do love the "I have come to sleep with you" line. Oh, awkward direct translations… The spine of one of my copies of the Brick is broken (that sounds really bad) such that it falls open to the page where it lists all the redshirt Patron-Minette characters… like Les-Pieds-en-l'Air, who has a fantastic name, and Mangedentelle, who I think I may have turned into a gay character Montparnasse met in prison once. Muaha.

* * *

Sarah plopped down in front of Herculean Gueulemer and thin Babet, who were so deep in discussion their mismatched foreheads were almost touching. She noticed Claquesous had disappeared, and turned just in time to see Inspector Javert slamming the door to the bathroom yet again. "Good for Javert," Sarah said. "He never got to catch any of those guys in the Book." 

And then she remembered where she was.

Sarah turned her head slowly.

Babet and Gueulemer were glaring at her, malicious looks on both their faces. She cleared her throat and gingerly got to her feet, backing away from the remaining two members of the Patron-Minette. "I… didn't mean that I _want_ Javert to capture your friends," she said quickly. "It's just… uh…" and she dashed to the safety of the back of the plane.

There was a familiar rustling sound from the overhead; Sarah turned around with every intention of scolding Gavroche. Only, upon turning she saw a completely different Thénardier. Éponine had gotten hold of someone's carryon and was rifling through women's beauty products. She caught Sarah's inquisitive gaze and grinned in a manner which would have been toothy but for the lack of teeth—so it was really a jack-o-lantern effect in the end.

"What're you doing?"

Éponine held up a bar of soap. "Maybe if I take a bath, M'sieur Marius will love me!"

Sarah snorted.

"You don't think it's worth a try?" the waif asked, insulted.

"Uh… I was just wondering how you were going to manage to fit into the bathroom long enough to wash. From what I've seen, it's pretty occupied."

Éponine pointed to the tail end of the plane. "That one's empty. Will you help me?"

"What the heck," said Sarah, getting to her feet and grabbing the stolen carryon. "Let's do this."

Scrubbing Éponine's face turned out to be harder than expected, not to mention combing all the tangles out of her matted hair and maneuvering in a tiny airplane bathroom. By the time they were finished, several teeth on the comb were missing—just like Éponine's mouth—and the wads of darkish hair scattered about the little stall reminded Sarah of the rats in Gavroche's elephant (as described in the gospel according to Hugo).

Once the transformation was complete, Sarah stepped back to observe their progress.

Éponine was certainly clean. She still had flabby cheeks and red, wind-chapped (and now overly-scrubbed) skin—and there were occasional bald spots on her head where one of them had been too impatient with a particular tangle… Sarah furrowed her brow. "Couldn't you even find a change of clothes?"

A moment later Éponine had been wrapped in a t-shirt and a floor-length skirt. Sarah shrugged. "Well, go get 'im," she said, and Éponine skipped blithely down the aisle toward the seat where Marius still sat, his back carefully turned on Cosette.

"This," Sarah whispered, "I gotta see."

Éponine bounced over to Marius and stopped, practically leering at him. Marius did not even look up. He gestured for her to lean in, and he whispered, lips almost touching her ear:

"Is Cosette looking at me?"

He hadn't even noticed the transformation. Éponine glanced back at Sarah, her strange eyes wide and the corners of her mouth jerking downward. Sarah shrugged. Both girls glanced at Cosette, who was indeed staring at Marius, her arms crossed and an expression similar to Éponine's on her pretty face.

A clear struggle passed across Éponine's countenance; Sarah watched, enthralled. Clearly the girl was beginning to resist her established character. Canonically, Sarah knew Éponine would gladly knuckle under and bow to Marius's whims, but something had been scrubbed away with the dirt; perhaps a bit of self-respect had surfaced along with her long-hidden skin.

Éponine seized both of Marius's shoulders and shook him like a bulldog shaking a chewtoy. "LOOK AT ME!" she screeched as his head lolled back and forth on his neck, then released him and stormed away. Flopped awkwardly across the seat, Marius turned to Sarah with round eyes.

"Who was that?" he asked, astonished.


	7. Fantine

A/N- Okay, I must apologize for the lateness of this update. I totally forgot yesterday was Wednesday, but that's probably because I had midterms in political science, German, French, _and_ linguistics. So I've literally typed this whole chapter during lecture and uploaded it with very few proofreads against all my instincts. And there's a pretty good chance that next chapter will be the last.

Princess Pajamas- (_bows head)_ Maybe you do… but kudos for being the only one to notice. I just needed to vent a little, I guess. I've been trying to restrain myself from writing a badfic for a long time now, but, if things keep going the way they are in the fandom, I don't know if I'll be able to resist.

Chorus girl 24601- Your review made me laugh. I was only _mostly_ dead, so it was okay. And now I feel swell. Yay!

BregoArodShadowfax- Haha, I just realized I've been reading your name wrong all this time. Whoops. Wow, did you try and see how many people you can fit into the bathroom on your plane? Or maybe try to picture four Mizzies crammed in there? Oh geez, I think that's a scene I should have explored.

Madame Enjolras- Hmm, I always assumed it was because the Book is roughly the size, shape… and weight… of an actual brick. But no one ever told me that specifically, so, it's kind of a guess.

miranda-keene- Wow, I actually saw R&J onstage for the first time last Friday. But yeah, I always laugh at the end of the play anyway, but it's because of Boy Meets World. There was an episode where Cory was trying to convince Feeny that young love always ended well, and he flips to the back of R&J and reads, "'Oh happy dagger, this is thy sheath.' …See? _Happy _dagger." Best. show. ever.

GizmoBunny- GASP I'm a day late will you ever forgive me? Am terribly amused at your purple-blooded Jehan, which reminds me of the old public library copy of the Book I first read. There was a dead spider crushed in the pages where Marius first met Éponine, which kind of fit the setting, I guess, but was extremely disgusting. And I was reading Javert's suicide while brushing my teeth, and, believe it or not, knocked over a cup of water and succeeded in making that page all crinkly and water-damaged. Irony! I also damaged my homemade Philip Quast bookmark with water. Huh.

East Coastie 1500- Um, I don't remember the kids' names off the top of my head, but if you saw a production of LMSE as directed by Terrence Mann on a Friday night in Raleigh, there's basically a 100 percent chance I was there too. Which is extremely bizarre, especially since it's the _second time_ I've found out after the fact that I was at the same performance of a show with an ff(dot)net-er, and both times were in that same theatre. Haha, we're practically related! Were you there because you had friends in the show, or in a drastic effort to meet Terrence Mann? The latter applies to me.

cowsgomoo23- I've been wondering the same thing myself for some time now. I'm taking your inadvertent suggestion into serious consideration, just to let you know. My basic plan is to crash this story (haha) within two chapters and move on to a completely different, hopefully funnier, humourfic that I have in mind.

* * *

Sarah patted Marius's black curls. "That's Éponine, sweetheart. But I think that you may want to go talk to your beloved Cosette. She doesn't look very happy with you, dear, and I can think of a certain old Frenchman who would be displeased if you two didn't love each other."

Marius got to his feet, furrowing his brow. "Who? My grandfather?"

"No, honey," sighed Sarah. "Just go talk to Cosette. This is getting dull."

Still seeming a bit dazed, Marius wandered back toward his pouting beloved.

Sarah, meanwhile, was beginning to be frustrated. She wanted to go to Paris. How long had they been on the plane? Was her mother's friend waiting at the airport for a plane that still hadn't arrived? And where were the other passengers? Could the blow-up doll actually land the plane?

Behind her, she heard Marius trying to regain Cosette's favour.

"Angel," he was saying, "I care nothing for that girl! It was only because you and the murderer…"

Sarah turned. There was one thing to be said for the Mizzies—they were making this flight interesting.

Marius was kneeling before Cosette, who had turned her face away in what could have been a haughty snub, but it was obvious that her cheeks were bright red and a smile was curling across her lips.

"Cosette—" Marius began again, but he was cut off by a screech.

A frail woman with short blonde hair and no front teeth staggered forward. "Cosette?" she repeated, her voice rising into a half-panic. "My daughter's name is Cosette!"

Sarah could not help but wonder where these new Mizzies were coming from. And how long it would be until they reached Paris.

Cosette dropped Marius's hand, her eyes widening. "Maman?"

"Cosette!" the woman cried, "My baby! Did M'sieur le Maire come for you as he promised? I heard he was a convict, that was what the Inspector said, but he promised me he would collect you from Montfermeil…!"

Cosette launched herself at Fantine, resulting in a knee to Marius's eye. The two embraced, tears streaming down Fantine's ragged face, while the lawyer struggled—and ultimately failed—to maintain consciousness.

"My child! My own little daughter!" Fantine was saying.

And then Javert entered the business class.

Fantine froze, her eyes widening. "The inspector," she hissed, terror printed on all of her features.

"The… _woman_… who attacked the gentleman," replied Javert.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You two should just team up! Fantine can pull teeth and Javert can incarcerate her victims, kind of like Sweeney Todd! Golly gee, that would make a great fanfic!"

The shameless plug was ignored.

"There is no false mayor to save you now!" Javert snarled in a brutish, fanfic-ish way. "JAIL!" and he seized her by the back of her dress and dragged her toward the restroom at the front of the plane.

"Honestly, though, how many people does he think he can fit in there?" Sarah wondered aloud. She expected no response from the Mizzies, and she received none. "Valjean, Montparnasse, Claquesous, and now Fantine?"

Cosette lurched forward in an attempt to save her newfound mother, but tripped over the unconscious Marius and fell, knocking Javert over. The Inspector lost his grip on the prostitute, and either passed out or went away. We'll decide which later.

"You saved me!" Fantine gasped. "Oh, my darling daughter! I can die happily at last!"

"Die?" Sarah and Cosette said together.

Cosette burst into tears. "No, mother, you can't die! You will live! Now that we're together at last, you're going to live!"

"It's too soon, too soon to say goodbye! Yes, Cosette, forbid me now to die! I'll obey. I will try. On this page—oh. Sorry," said Sarah. "Go on. Don't mind me."

Fantine and Cosette had gone back to crying and cuddling when the overhead compartment burst open and a certain gamin fell out. Fantine, Cosette, and Sarah stared at him.

Gavroche crossed his arms. "I wish _I_ was loved by _my_ mother."

"Oh, poor child!" said Fantine. "Come to me—"

"—And rest against my shoulder—"

"—and I'll love you!"

"Ugh," said Sarah, "this is so sweet I could hurl."

"Tell me about it," muttered Marius, who was beginning to come to. One of his eyes was showing signs of a lovely little bruise.

The two of them watched the group hug between Fantine, Cosette, and Gavroche.

"You know what?" Sarah said. "I've come to a realization."

"What realization might that be, mademoiselle?" asked Marius.

Sarah shrugged. "I'm getting tired of all these mother-loving Mizzies on this mother-loving plane."


	8. The Power of Easy Mac

A/N- Okay, I'm ready to end this fic. Anyone have any suggestions on how it might be done? No, I mean really. I'll credit you if I use your idea.

BregoArodShadowfax- Good luck with your midterms! Today's actually my first day of fall break, so yay to that. Snakes on a Plane is actually a really funny movie… you should… watch it… someday.

East Coastie1500- Ooh, I wanted to go to that one (tickets were, like ten bucks!) but I had, you know… classes. Bah. And yeah, Terry (we're TOTALLY on a first-name basis now, obviously) has a lovely voice, but his work in LM is my least favourite. I actually saw him as Javert when I was in eighth grade, and he kind of… sucked. He was really robotic and emotionless. And he's kind of an egomaniacal jerk in reality, too. …I love me some Philip Quast, let me tell you.

Madame-Enjolras- Believe it or not, I didn't expect to see Fantine either. But… well, there ya go. Um, I have no idea where this fic is going, or even what's going on in it. But… you know. I try.

miranda-keene- Hahaha, I would NEVER get tired of them. I would also probably follow a certain dandy around until he stabbed me in the face.

Chorus girl 24601- Ahh your review cracked me up in lecture! I mean… not like I was on the site during class or anything… no sir, not me… ahem. But yeah, I kind of tend to picture it thrown through a window as well. Like Ralph Wiggum. "I'm a brick!" …yeah.

GizmoBunny- I think they… well, Parnasse… would have probably used some kind of perfume-y stuff, right? I guess people back then would have been rather desensitized to BO. But you know what always annoys me? Thinking about Marius seeing Cosette's ankle that one time, and knowing she had no way or reason to shave… Ugh hairy legs. And Éponine too! And Fantine…

Kates Master's Sister- Every Wednesday.

MaxitheTaxi- Haha, were _I_ on that plane, I would need a change of pants, and pronto! Also, I think we all know who would have a little unwelcome shadow…

* * *

"You know what would be kind of interesting?"

Marius pushed himself to his feet and prodded delicately at his swelling eye. "What would that be, mademoiselle?"

"Well," said Sarah, "there are at least three people crammed into the bathroom up there. Want to go free them?"

"Wouldn't that make the inspector very angry?"

"We decided that he's currently unconscious due to Cosette knocking him out… remember? See, there he is, unconscious, on the floor, right near Fantine and the Bear Hug that Never Ends."

Marius leaned forward, peering over the blonde's frazzled head. "Oh yes, I see! That's definitely the inspector's unconscious body."

"Yes," said Sarah, "yes it is. So, shall we liberate the unfairly incarcerated?"

Marius paused. "Do you think Napoleon would approve?" he asked meekly.

"Of course!"

"And—"

"And Enjy too."

Marius blinked. "Enjy?"

"Enjy-olras… um… I meant… Enjolras…"

But Marius was delighted. "You call him that too? I thought it was just me and Courfeyrac! Wow!"

"Yeah…" said Sarah. "It's… a great nickname."

"Sometimes I call Courfeyrac..." Marius lowered his voice, "_Courfy_."

"Was this before or after you came to sleep with him?"

"After, of course," the lawyer said innocently.

"Of course," repeated Sarah. "Um, let's go free the oppressed now, okay?"

"Yay!" said Marius.

The two of them stepped carefully over Fantine, who was still blissfully clutching Gavroche and Cosette to her heart, and made their way to the front of the plane.

When they reached the clumsily barricaded bathroom door, Sarah quickly pushed the flight attendant's cart away, and put her hand on the latch.

"That was easy," she said.

"Almost… _too_ easy," Marius amended, narrowing his one good eye and glancing from side to side.

Sarah was in the midst of saying that Marius was quite silly when a hairbrush cracked into his skull and knocked him unconscious—again.

"Um… Marius?"

A book whizzed by her nose, and a voice from the back of the plane cried, "Surrender to the people!"

Sarah turned her head and saw, much to her surprise, a tall pile of carryons stacked across the aisle and, atop the heap, a red t-shirt affixed to a cane. The tops of heads were visible, and she recognized blond Enjolras and bald BOSSUET among them.

"What?"

Enjolras popped up above the barricade. "The people have come to free the unjustly oppressed from your tyrannical imprisonment!"

"…What?" Sarah demanded. "I was here to free _them_! And Marius is one of you! Who threw that brush? You should be ashamed!"

The only response from the barricade was a package of Easy-Mac that came hurtling toward Sarah's head. She ducked, and the delicious food product sailed safely past.

"I can't very well stand up to them like this," she muttered, and she opened the door to the little bathroom.

Montparnasse had apparently been nearest the door, for he fell atop Sarah once it was opened (which she didn't really mind so much). Jean Valjean was sitting in the tiny sink, and Claquesous had been standing with his feet on either side of the toilet seat. The murderer was using Valjean's head as an armrest, and the latter was pouting with all his might.

"Okay, guys, come on," Sarah said from her enviable position under Montparnasse, "you need to help me fight in the revolution."

"Not again!" cried Claquesous. Valjean, meanwhile, noticed the unconscious form of Marius and, extracting himself from the sink, scrambled over to the prostrate boy and threw him over his shoulder, then began crawling under the seats and dragging Marius behind, muttering something about bringing him home.

Montparnasse, inevitably, got up and moved away, and Sarah frowned. Well, she was really frowning because the prisoners hadn't been willing to help her protect herself from the students, but some of it probably had something to do with the removal of Montparnasse. She had realized, of course, that since she had freed Javert's prisoners the students had stopped throwing things at her, so the only remaining problem was being stuck in the plane full of imaginary characters in the first place.

"Mademoiselle Sarah," rasped a voice.

Sarah turned and saw Éponine lying across the door to the cockpit. "What's wrong with you?"

"Mademoiselle," grunted Éponine, "did you see the cup of Easy-Mac that was coming toward you?"

"Yeah…"

"And a hand that stopped it?"

"No… it actually missed me."

"That hand was mine."

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"The Easy-Mac entered my hand, but it exited my back," Éponine said, holding up one hand.

"…the hell? Éponine, that would be a really big hole."

"When I die, will you promise to kiss me? Just here, on the forehead."

"You could probably stick and entire arm through a hole that big. Jeez!"

"You know, mademoiselle, I think I was—"

"No. No, don't you DARE finish that line, you little weirdo. Jeez, is that all it takes for you to fall in love? Someone to spend time with you? You needy thing. And no, Éponine, you are NOT dying of Easy-Mac wounds."

"But mademoiselle!"

"Listen, Éponine, I really have to go. But if I see Montparnasse, I'll send him this way, all right? Great. Good luck." And she got to her feet and stomped away, easily toppling the students' luggage barricade, skirting Fantine, who was still hugging Gavroche and Cosette, and throwing herself into her seat.

But someone was already sitting there.


	9. Oh Javert, You Silly Silly Man

A/N- Man, I _rock_ at cop-out last chapters! See also: The New Production, The Inspector's New Groove (okay, it's not there YET, but it will be someday), and… probably some other stuff. Apologies in advance for any sucking-ness you will see as you read on. Also, I'm pretty sure I ripped off a lot of my own stuff in this… like, using phrases almost exactly the way I used them in other stories. And you'll only know if you read and review EVERYTHING. Muaha.

The ENDING is from an older review from cowsgomoo23. Though I did my best to salute as many of you as I could, because, hey, you tried and mostly had hilarious ideas. I just couldn't get this one out of my head.

Princess Pajamas- Oh no! Haven't you learned to never, under any circumstances, drink things while reading fanfic? Even if it's not funny, you never know what a deranged authoress can produce.

GizmoBunny- Gasp I'm uncreative too! I used to write original stuff in middle school, but ever since eighth grade the only stuff I can do is fanfic. And most of that is fairly crossover-y or inspired by something else.

Nathalie- If you insist… er… tada!

Mabeuf- Your idea was my second favourite! I mean, I know it was in the movie, but I never really considered using it. Can't you just picture the Mizzies being sucked out of the plane? Enjolras hanging desperately onto a chair, and Grantaire clutching his leg? Ahh that was genius.

Kates Master's Sister- Hehe, depends on your point of view.

Chorus girl 24601- Huh. If Easy Mac killed, I would be the deadest person alive. No, really. I thought about doing that, but Elyse3 did it in one of her fics (The Curse of the Marie-Suzette? Maybe) and also… I might use it at the end of The Inspector's New Groove. If I ever post the last chapter.

BregoArodShadowfax- Hurray for your midterms not sucking! I actually tend to call him "Enj" in conversation and in reviews, because his name is entirely too long and "Enjy" is far too fangirl-y. Yeah, I'm TOTALLY not a fangirl.

unseengenius- No, don't try to make sense of it! That'll kill brain cells. And no one wants that. I'm serious. Baaaad idea.

Steven Kodaly- I gave that last suggestion serious thought. Seriously. As for dragging the Narrator into it, I tried that in Into the Streets, and it ended up being really weird. Plus I'd written the entire fic in present tense just to be able to do that later… and then I died. Haha, good times.

* * *

Sarah leapt back to her feet and whirled around. "That's _my_ seat!"

"Sorry," mumbled Grantaire. He was clutching a tiny bottle of airline liquor, which he proceeded to empty in one fell gulp.

Disgusted, Sarah pushed herself back to her feet and moved further down the aisle, stepping over Fantine, who had been pressing Gavroche and Cosette to her bosom for a rather long time now.

At that moment the entire plane jolted and titled downward into another nosedive. "What now?" Sarah moaned as she found herself hurtling down the aisle again, sliding feet first toward the cockpit.

The cockpit door was open, and out of the corner of her eye Sarah saw Javert stuffing something into the bathroom stall as she flew past. When the pilot's chair finally broke her fall, she realized that it was empty. "Where's the blowup doll? The autopilot?" she asked the empty cockpit.

Javert himself tumbled into the cockpit a moment later, cracking his skull against the doorway and muttering, "Jail!" before slipping into unconsciousness. Again.

Mindful of the rattling of the plane, Sarah leaned out far enough to see a bit of plastic sticking out of the bathroom jail. "Good God, Javert!" she groaned. "You incarcerated the autopilot?"

The unconscious Javert did not reply.

"You guys sure get knocked out easily," mumbled Sarah. "Probably because it's funny and someone out there has a sadistic streak when it comes to Les Mis characters."

To agree with that statement, the unconscious forms of Marius, Jean Valjean, and Éponine fell into the cockpit, landing in a pile atop Javert.

Turning her mind back to their imminent doom, Sarah slapped the autopilot button on the dashboard again, but to no avail. Apparently there was only one blowup doll. "Well, I guess no one took into consideration the idea that a deranged inspector might lock the autopilot doll in the bathroom and send the whole plane into a downward spiral and certain death when they were designing the safety features."

One may notice that Sarah is quite calm and rather snarky in the face of death. It must be said that she had been through quite a lot of impossible things within the last few hours, and giving a fictitious and dead character a makeover is slightly more incredible than dying in a plane crash, so she was beginning to cope. And there was a nagging suspicion that she would wake up at any given time—

There was a massive crunching sound, and everything went dark.

* * *

Sarah slowly opened her eyes. _Green_, she thought disjointedly. _Death is green_. But things began to resolve in her mind and—along with a splitting headache—she found her sense. She was looking at a tree. A very tropical tree.

She heard footsteps—running footsteps—and carefully sat up, holding her head. A ragged little boy ran by. In the jungle. A ragged little boy…

Gavroche!

Sarah pushed herself to her feet and ran—shakily—in the direction the urchin boy had taken. The jungle ended abruptly and she found herself on a beach.

The remnants of the massive plane were sprawled across the sand, and under the deafening roar of one of the turbines, she heard shouts and screams. Oddly dressed people were running back and forth—the Mizzies! There was a shuddering noise as the speed of the remaining turbine began to increase to a frantic level; Sarah ducked her head just in time to miss seeing the explosion.

She looked back up and took in the entire scene. The beach was dotted with Mizzies and shrapnel. All of them were staring at the plane, mouths agape. The Mizzies, that is. Not the shrapnel. Shrapnel cannot stare. Sarah moved into the middle of the crowd.

There was a screeching roar from the jungle behind them, and all of the castaways spun around in time to see something enormous rustling ominously amongst the distant trees.

Sarah looked at the Mizzies, then back at the jungle.

"Guys," she breathed, hardly daring to tear her eyes from the forest, "where are we?"

Montparnasse took it upon himself to reply. "It seems we're lost."

WHOM.

* * *

A/N- Hahaha. Maybe someday I'll write a sequel, but probably not. 


End file.
